


Five Small Steps (or One Big Leap)

by Aate



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Totally, a foolproof guide to love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-20 17:24:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11339973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aate/pseuds/Aate
Summary: Newt takes a witch magazine's advice on how to get his man.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've rewritten the first two chapters of this fic, so they might be different from how you remember. I hope you enjoy my fic, nonetheless. :)

Like most good things in life, he found it when he was drinking a cup of tea.

To be more precise, he found it when he was enjoying a satisfyingly hot cup of five o’clock mint tea on a rainy Thursday in the warm and welcoming kitchen of the Goldstein sisters, browsing absent-mindedly through _The Wanderful Witch_ , 10/1929, one of Queenie’s shiny new witch magazines.

 _The Wanderful Witch_ – with a beautiful quidditch player posing on the cover with her broom – had been abandoned on the kitchen table like always happened when Queenie had finished reading any a magazine, and since Newt liked to read while eating, he had opened it without giving the act much thought — and there, on page ten, he had by chance found it, The Article.

 _“Five Stages to a Gentleman’s Heart,”_ stood its title. _”No Spells Nor Love Potions Needed! Written by the famous Love Scholar Celestine Lockhart.”_

Taken off guard, Newt stared at the title, setting the teacup slowly down onto the saucer (on which he promptly forgot it despite of the tempting minty scent of the tea), his attention entirely caught by The Article.

Holding onto the magazine with two hands, he devoured the opening paragraph.

> Finding your way to a gentleman’s heart is like climbing up slippery stairs: you need to approach the top carefully one step at a time. In this article, I will show you the map to a gentleman’s heart, including the five stages wizards go through as they fall in love. If you “take the steps” one at a time, you will eventually reach the top where your new lover will already be waiting for you.

_"Merlin._ ”

It was but a gasp, and Newt ran a hand through his mess of reddish brown curls, never once looking away from the words he had just read. This – this article – it could change everything.

It could _change everything._

It never – not once - had occurred to him that someone might have written a guide to human mating rituals, but there it now truly seemed to be, the guide to romance, standing on the pages of _The Wanderful Witch_.

“Merlin,” Newt said again, shaking his head slowly in disbelief.

It seemed almost too good to be true.

And, yes, promising though the article appeared at the first glance, there were rather ambiguously no sources listed, even though Newt with his racing heart turned a few pages just to be sure. Then again, judging from the women’s undergarment advert on page four and the adverts for potassium soap and the vampire repellent respectively on page eleven, the magazine did seem to be aimed at the general public rather than the Academic Society for American Witches and Wizards, so, yes, granted, the sources were not _necessarily necessary_.

Pickett, perhaps feeling the frantic pounding of Newt's heart from where he had been playing with a sparrow feather in the vest pocket, climbed up onto Newt's shoulder, peeping worriedly, and Newt, distracted, offered him reassurance and comfort by petting his form - smooth like a young willow - with a finger, while studying the witch smiling at him from the photograph from below the title, _“Five Stages to a Gentleman’s Heart”_. Celestine Lockhart flicked her fair curls and blew him a kiss, pursing her painted lips in a playful manner, before winking and placing a confident hand onto her boyishly narrow hip covered by a short flapper dress. She looked like she knew what she was doing, like she was glad to have gotten her work published in _The Wanderful Witch_ , like she didn’t mind the lack of sources in her article in the slightest – Lockhart, Newt concluded, must have had her research peer reviewed elsewhere for _The Wanderful Witch_ to have agreed to publish her article and to call her a famous scholar in the title.

Perhaps, Newt wondered, as Pickett settled comfortably onto his shoulder, perhaps the publisher had opted to not publish the sources, long as source lists could be, to not intimidate an average reader? Underestimating readers seemed ill-advised, but Newt had seen it done before when it came to magazines aimed for the general public instead of scholars. He also knew how difficult it could be to get research articles published since it had taken years for him to do so and so he did have some first-hand understanding of what Celestine Lockhart must have been through to get a witch magazine aimed for the general public to offer a platform for her research.

With quiet pride – never boastful but simply privately content with his hard work and dedication gradually growing fruit – Newt’s thoughts briefly flickered down into his study where half a ledge of a bookshelf was now filled with his published work, _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ the thickest of them all, framed by the eighteen articles he had so far written for such globally highly regarded journals such as _The Sourcerer_ and _The Wizarding Mind_.

In five of his published, much discussed articles, also found in the bookshelf, Newt had taken a closer look at the mating rituals of various creatures, but good as he was at describing the rather interesting aspects of different species’ ways of attracting a mate, he had to admit he was out of his depth trying to attract a mate of his own. Usually – or rather, _before_ , before New York, before he had made new friends, American friends, wonderful, true friends – this would not have bothered him in the slightest – before, he had not given much thought on romance, nor had he been interested in having one himself – but the deeper his friendship had grown with one Percival Graves, the more regretful he had become over his lack of understanding human mating rituals.

He and Percival, they had now been friends for closer to three years. Initially they had been suspicious of each other, but slowly, after Percival had been released from the hospital after his four terrible days as Grindelwald’s prisoner in a coffin in a grave yard (Grindelwald had apparently found it humorous to “bury a Graves alive under graves”), the suspicion had turned into mutual respect which in turn had grown into politeness which had soon become general positives feelings which then had evolved into friendship. Nowadays, they spent a lot of their free time together by conscious choice and Newt had grown very much attracted to his best friend, although he hesitantly kept that to himself, uncertain of how to let Percival know of his interest.

How _did_ people go about making their feelings known? Newt had spent many nights wondering about that.

Had he been a Griffindor like Theseus, Newt probably would have found the boldness needed to just march up to Percival to confess his feelings, but as the case stood, he had no bold bone in his body, shy and timid as he was. In fact, while he generally was nowadays comfortable enough with Percival to consider him his best and closest friend, his windpipes went nevertheless tight and his auditory muscles locked up whenever he even attempted to discuss his romantic feelings with Percival. Newt did want to deepen their friendship, desperately so, he wanted to turn it into a romantic relationship, but the more he wanted it, the harder it was for the words to come.

And so he knew he needed help.

He knew he needed help. He was well aware he needed help, badly, but he had been uncertain of where to get it, whom to ask – or rather, _how_ to ask since he couldn’t voice his longing, didn’t have the words to do so as they just wouldn't come.

But now, _now_ , thanks to _The Wanderful Witch_ Queenie had left on the kitchen table, Newt could get the help he needed without having to talk about his feelings, without having to force the words out. He now had _an actual guide_ on how to go about his feelings for Percival, _written by an actual scholar of love_.

If only he had come across Scholar Lockhart’s research earlier! For sure, he should pay more attention to the scholar fields also outside of his own fields of interest, or lest he might again miss the work of such a notable scholar as Celestine Lockhart.

Reverently, as Pickett's soft snoring reached his ear from where the bowtruckle was now sleeping on his shoulder, Newt studied the article.

If this guide would bring him and Percival closer together, he would dedicate himself to following every single step, meticulously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
>  
> 
> (Please do not save my fics on fanfics.me. I don't want them saved there.)


	2. Chapter 2

> Step One: Look Your Best
> 
> The hard truth is, wizards will only fall in love with those to whom they are physically attracted. While you don’t need to look perfect by any means in order to attract a wealthy husband – although it certainly helps, as yours truly surely can attest – it is advisable to pay attention to the way you look. Wear lipstick, make sure your looks are as immaculate as they can be and don’t be afraid to fix your small imperfections with powder or a suitable charm (see my Beautifying Charms, page 8). Beauty has a price, but love will be the worthy reward, so do think of beauty - and become a Beauty!

While Pickett sled down the sink on a bar of soap, whooping out of pure delight (Newt had plugged the sink carefully beforehand so it was quite safe), Newt stood in front of the bathroom mirror naked as could be and studied himself critically.

Long limbs, not exactly muscular by any means but… _proportional_ , nonetheless, he supposed, lean and straight, stronger and faster than they looked.

Freckles on pale skin.

Newt tilted his head, considering. Would Percival mind the freckles? Newt had known people who did, some who had said freckles were ugly.

“I should probably cover them with Queenie’s foundation, just to be sure,” he mused to Pickett who didn’t even stop to listen, trying to push the soap up the side of the sink as he was.

Fond, Newt offered a helping hand, placing both Pickett and Queenie’s rosy soap bar up onto the counter – from where Pickett could again slide down the sink, the loudness of his joyful chirping only second to the steady hum of the modern Muggle radiator (similar to which Tina and Queenie’s wealthy Muggle landlady had proudly had installed in every room of her property the day before, according to herself).

Newt’s reddish brown curls, still wet from bathing and therefore also darker than usual, were plastered on his face flushed from just having been scrubbed clean. His eyes looked bluer than usual in contrast to his pinkish face.

“I wonder what Percival would think, seeing me like this,” Newt sighed, looking his naked body up and down in the mirror.

Scars, some healing, some faint ones beyond healing, having been caused by particularly powerful magic. He didn’t mind his scars since he had gotten them while helping magical creatures and they were therefore a reminder of why his work was important, but he still wondered if Percival would be disturbed by them. Theseus always was, insisting he should be more careful.

“You should dry off before you catch a cold, young man,” the mirror gave him its sensible advice and Newt followed it, casting a few drying charms on himself.

The truth was, he didn’t think much of his looks, but nor did he find himself repulsive. He looked… okay enough? Passable? Looks had never played a big part in his life, if one didn’t count the amount of times he had been called scruffy and unkempt by several of his aunts and uncles, or the way Theseus kept calling his face “adorable”, just to cause him annoyance.

Nonetheless, determined to follow Lockhart’s advice to find ways to improve his looks so they would be more to Percival’s liking, Newt kept on studying himself in the mirror, stubbornly.

“Right then,” he finally said both to the mirror as well as to Pickett, satisfied he had found now enough details to improve. “I better get on with it then.”

In her article, Celestine Lockhart had advised him to “think of beauty” and that was what Newt now attempted to do. He thought of beautiful things, of the things he found attractive, and used spells to improve his looks accordingly: He made his eyebrows bushier, turning them as dark shade of brown as he could. He charmed his hair the same color, almost black, as brown as the darkest chocolate, and tried to then change his eye color to brown as well, but since that was quite a lot of trickier, he ended up with resin-colored eyes instead.

“That will have to do,” he finally decided with a sigh, turning his head this way and that to study his appearances from different angles, trying hard to pretend he wasn’t spooked by having someone else's face looking back at him. “Percival will just have to get used to me not having brown eyes, or he can charm them himself if he insists on it. I can’t make them any darker. But I do look more handsome now, wouldn’t you agree, mirror?”

“You don’t look like yourself,” the mirror said, bluntly. “And stop staring at me! You’re making me uncomfortable.”

Embarrassed, Newt shot his gaze down onto the soapy sink and the abandoned soap bar in it. He had been looking at his reflection quite a long time, hadn’t he. Both Tina and Queenie had already been by knocking on the door, asking if he was all right.

“I’m sorry, mirror. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

The mirror didn’t answer (not that Newt had expected it to since it hadn’t been the talkative kind after the fateful evening when it had made the mistake of telling Jacob to lose some weight where Queenie had heard – she had changed the charms then and there, apologizing over and over while saying the mirror was intended to only observe _her_ weight, not anyone else’s, and she was only soothed when it had become clear Jacob was too impressed with a mirror talking to get offended by anything it said to him).

Pickett had stopped sliding down the sink and was now chirping to Tina’s red toothbrush in a manner that suggested he was quite taken with it. He had attempted to woo toothbrushes before, completely ignoring Newt’s explanations on how they were objects, not living things, and Newt now felt sorry for him, knowing Pickett’s romance with the toothbrush could go nowhere.

Newt wondered if his chances with Percival were any better than Pickett’s with the toothbrush. At least Percival wasn’t a toothbrush, he supposed, cheered by the thought, and neither was he, so that was a start.

* * *

Newt stepped out of the fireplaces, brushing ash off his newly purchased black suit and sneezed when it tickled his nose. Out of instinct, his hand rose to wipe the unruly fringe off his eyes only for him to realize he had slicked back his hair neatly before using the Floo network to get to the 64th Huntington Street where Percival occasionally resided when he couldn’t be bothered to apparate to his estates outside of New York City.

Percival’s city apartment was smaller than the Graves’ Manor in the countryside, but it was nonetheless of a generous size. More bedrooms than he would ever need, every single one with an ensuite. Three balconies, one in each floor. Two sitting rooms, a kitchen, a dining room, a few studies, an office, a library, the entrance hall in which Newt was currently standing, having just stepped out of the large fireplace built to impress.

Unlike one might have presumed, there was no house elf, not here in the city apartment nor in the Graves’ Manor outside the city. There had been one, Newt knew, one called Penny. She had been there when Percival was born, she had been there when he had been accepted to the auror program, and – much to Percival’s sorrow – she had also been there when Grindelwald – having already buried Percival alive – had come knocking.

Penny had known Grindelwald for what he was, had known it wasn’t her master despite of the appearances, and Grindelwald had killed her for it, for her loyalty and love for Percival. She had denied him access to the house until her last breath, had closed the home from Grindelwald as her last deed, and thanks to her, he never had gotten inside, not further than the fireplace.

When Percival had been released from the hospital, Penny’s body had still been in the entrance hall, scattered here and there.

 _”Master was so sad for Penny,”_ Penny had once told Newt from her painting in the sitting room in the second floor when Percival had gone to the kitchen in the first floor to make them tea. _”Penny wishes Master wouldn’t ever be sad. Penny wants Master to be happy, like he was when he was little. Penny loves Master and only wishes him well.”_

Now, there was no signs of the murdered house elf in the entrance hall, but Newt was still respectful to cross it in silence, bowing his head in memory of the brave Penny who had guarded the house when Percival hadn’t been there to do so and who had cared for Percival when he had still been a child.

When Newt reached the second floor, the screeching sounds coming from the library had him wincing. Percival was trying to learn to play the cello, and even though he clearly wasn’t advancing all that fast, he was too stubborn to give up without a good effort and then some which was why Newt had had to listen to the screeching on a regular basis. Newt never complained, though, because if Percival was ready to work hard to learn a new skill, the least Newt could do was to give him the space to practice.

Besides, if Newt could clean the ear canals of a howler pixie while she screamed at him, he sure could listen to Percival practicing his cello every once in a while. After all, patience could have been Newt’s second name, not to mention that he truly did approve of people educating themselves and actively trying to learn new skills.

Newt knocked on the library door, politely, even though he knew Percival was already aware of his presence – now that Penny was no longer there, no-one entered the house without Percival himself granting them access. Had Percival not already granted him access, Newt would have had to wait in the fireplace until he did.

“Come on in, Newt!”

His welcome thus confirmed, Newt pushed the door open, nervous for his new looks and for what Percival would think of them.

With the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up over his elbows, Percival was sitting on a stool with the cello between his thighs, body bent forward so he could look at his fingers on the fingerboard as well as the bow moving on the strings further below. The oil lamp had his black shoes and the polished wood of the cello gleaming, but he seemed unaware of this, a look of concentration appearing to have frozen on his handsome face. When Newt entered, Percival quickly looked up to flash him a smile – only for the smile to vanish the instant he saw Newt, the dark eyes growing concerned and grim as he took in Newt’s improved appearances.

It all went downhill from there.

* * *

“What happened?”

Percival had abandoned the playing and was now crowding Newt’s personal space, hands hovering worriedly like he wanted to touch but wasn’t sure if it was allowed. Newt wasn’t quite able to meet his eyes, suddenly embarrassed to look different, unlike himself, since Percival clearly wasn’t appreciating his improved looks, and so he focused his eyes onto the stubble of the clenched jaw and the unhappy curl of Percival’s mouth.

“What happened?” Percival's lips were moving, his voice was grim, and one of his hands landed onto Newt’s shoulder, reassuringly. “Who did this to you? You must tell me, Newt. Don’t be afraid – I will deal with them.”

“No-one did this to me,” Newt’s voice came out quiet due to his mortification and misery. “I cast the spells on me myself.”

Percival was already shaking his head, unconvinced. When he spoke, his voice was gentle despite of its assertiveness.

“You don't need to protect them. They won’t be able to get anywhere near you again, I will see to that."

"No-one else was involved," it was humiliating to admit to as much now seeing as he had caused Percival concern - without meaning to, yes, but nonetheless. "I- I really did change my looks myself."

Clearly, Newt hadn't followed Lockhart's guide correctly - worrying a love interest most certainly had not been the goal here even if Newt had managed just that. Since he couldn't even follow a five step guide with clear instructions without causing concern, he was clearly in even more need of help with his love life than he had initially believed. He would need to be more carefully with the next steps, he decided then and there. He would follow them to the word - if only he had settled for powder and Lockhart's Beautifying Charms (found on page eight) as suggested, perhaps Percival would have now been delighted rather than mistaken into believing that Newt had been assaulted.

Newt's misery and regrets must have shown on his face because an insistent finger urged him to raise his head, and Percival's eyes, soft like velvet, met his.

"Hey now, Newton," was barely a murmur. "Don't be afraid - I _will_ keep you safe. I won't let them harm you in any way. But you really do have to tell me who they were. If you didn't know them, can you describe them to me? Or would you allow me to perform the legilimency needed to see them for myself? They must have done this to taunt me, so in a way, this is my fault.”

It took an excessive amount of stuttered explaining before Newt finally managed to convince Percival he hadn’t been attacked or cursed, that he truly had cast the spells to change his appearances himself to improve his looks, but it wasn’t until Percival had taken his wand and cast a few spells himself, making sure Newt hadn’t been obliviated or cursed recently, that he seemed to finally believe the truth.

When Percival finally did believe Newt, he looked momentarily relieved, his mind visibly eased now that Newt hadn't actually been attacked, before something about him deflated. He shook his head slowly before the look of denial morphed into one of anger and hurt and - it pained Newt to see it - _betrayal_.

“Why would you do this?” Percival’s voice was a mix of emotion, the look on his face a little desperate, a little vulnerable, like he still outright wanted to refuse to believe Newt had changed his appearances willingly. “Why would you make yourself look like me when you are well aware of how I feel about someone wearing my face after all Grindelwald did?”

Understanding hit Newt and suddenly he was unable to get air into his lungs, shocked, horrified with himself. He opened and closed his mouth silently, desperately, his heart pounding in his ears, and he reached for Percival who didn't exactly pull away but stiffened when Newt’s hesitant hand landed onto his arm.

Newt hadn’t consciously tried to make himself look like Percival, but when he had thought of the things he found attractive, his subconscious mind must have focused on Percival and his handsome looks. Without meaning to, he had brought several of Percival’s features onto his own face, and now standing there in front of the man, wearing a face similar to his, Newt was undoubtedly reminding Percival of Grindelwald’s time disguised as him. To Percival, Newt’s improved looks had to look like a tasteless joke, or like Newt was mocking him cruelly.

“I’m so sorry,” Newt began with an apology, beyond miserable, words coming out strangled due to his piercing guilt. “I’m _so sorry_ , Percival. I was trying to improve my looks and I was trying to think of beautiful things and I must have unconsciously taken you as my model. I swear to you I didn’t intend to look like you on purpose. This is horrible! I’m ashamed. I’m terribly, terribly sorry. I never meant to hurt you like this.”

Merlin, he had even slicked back his hair like Percival's! Newt wrung his hands, horrified with himself, with his thoughtlessness, with his obliviousness. How hadn’t he noticed whom he was looking like when he had looked at himself in the mirror, when he had purchased the new suit, the black one, a black suit _he_ wouldn’t choose to wear under normal circumstances, but in hindsight similar to the ones _Percival_ wore in his daily life?

He was such a fool, such a thoughtless friend.

Together the two of them removed all the charms and spells Newt had cast on himself. Gradually Percival’s grim look changed into one of relief and he seemed to take great pleasure in mussing up Newt’s curls after removing the hair gel from them with an effective spell that spoke of experience. While he wiped the foundation off Newt’s face with his handkerchief, Percival kept on muttering mild swearwords and chides under his breath, although his touch remained gentle.

“What were you even thinking? To improve your looks by making yourself look like me? To _improve your looks?_ To _improve_! Of all the ludicrous, ridiculous…”

* * *

"I suppose it's a compliment," Percival said later once Newt again looked like himself and the two of them had been sitting quietly in front of the fireplace for a long time. "That you would try to make yourself look more like me to 'improve your looks'."

A pause, then, teasingly, "Does that mean you find me handsome?"

Blushing, Newt couldn't get the affirmative out, try as he might, but Percival merely chuckled, warm voice amused, and something eased between them, again.

* * *

“Just so you know, I do accept your earlier apologies,” Percival said, leaning on the fireplace as Newt prepared to Floo back to the Goldsteins'. “Although I certainly hope you won’t do anything like that again. To _improve_ your looks - _Mercy Lewis_ , Newt. You look perfect - _ly_ fine," Percival coughed, looking away, "the way you do. You don’t need to change anything, and I’d rather you didn’t.”

All things considered – Newt mused later as he fed the mooncalves down in his suitcase, still feeling bad for what he had done – if Percival already approved of his looks, then perhaps he had already accomplished the first step of Lockhart’s guide without having to actually change anything.

In any case, if further problems arose in this area, Newt could try lipstick as suggested. It always seemed to work for Queenie, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos!


End file.
